


Strange Attractors

by efnisien



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efnisien/pseuds/efnisien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel finds perfect happiness, unasked-for.  Fred finds something quite different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Attractors

During her years in Pylea, Fred learned to heed the weather as she never did in Texas or California. Weather could mean the difference between shivering as she fled back to her cave, hair dripping and clothes drenched, and sunning warily at its mouth, like a curled cat. From the weather she divined the migrations of bird-beasts so she knew where to prepare her snares. And it provided a distraction, too. She painted recursive equations and Lorenz attractors on the deepest walls of stones, washed off the paint as new ideas and old sorrows dogged her.

Today there is rain, and no lightning; nevertheless thunder roars from Caritas' ruins, and smoke leaks out past the interstices of rain. Already the dust that was Darla has scattered into the air and sluiced away down the slope of the pitted street. The baby's cry is astonishingly strong.

Part of Fred is prey still. All humans are a vampire's prey, but Fred is better at remembering it. Perhaps it is that sense that leads her to reach for the dented pewter cross she keeps in her pocket. All attention honed on the baby--_poor thing, he must be cold,_ she thinks--Fred brandishes the cross at Angel.

Too late. The cross isn't what causes Angel's dazzled expression to twist into agony. He says something she doesn't understand, staggering, holding the baby out to her. No fool, she snatches the shrieking child and gathers him to her breast, tossing Angel the cross in return.

The Angel she knew would not have laughed and laughed, holding the cross while it burns him.

Long hair whipping behind her, Fred runs. It is not good for the baby, but neither is the cold, neither is the rain, neither is the death that is his father unsouled.


End file.
